


i'm a mess for the thought of you

by RavenWhitecastle



Series: The Sinner and the Saint [8]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 21:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14553432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/RavenWhitecastle
Summary: They've both survived a harrowing case, and physically they're perfectly in tact. But emotionally, they begin to find the walls around their hearts starting to crack...-Sequel to "i can lose everything but you," immediately following the events of the previous fic.





	1. Harold's POV

The most recent case had left both John and Harold weak and exhausted. Between the tragedy of the number’s suicide mission and not knowing what had happened to each other in the interlude, the job had drained them of all their energy. Harold had instructed John to go rest, and John hadn’t even argued. The programmer was worried for his friend, but instead of pacing, Harold threw himself into researching what had gone wrong.

The Machine had given the number of Willy Miller, and everyman accountant with a metric ton of financial troubles. Harold had figured Miller would seek help in unsavory places, but John predicted Miller would go after the higher-ups at the accounting office. John had been right, to no one’s surprise. They just hadn’t expected the number to turn so violent with no sense of self-preservation. Miller had destroyed himself and the accounting office, nearly taking Harold with him. Harold made a note to listen to his partner next time.

John had always been impressively perceptive. It was a trait that Harold admired in his friend. He just wished that he’d trusted John’s instincts. It was always hard losing a number. But it was even harder seeing John so distressed. Harold had never seen John that upset. The ex-operative had always been reserved, playing it close to the vest. Of course, Harold was no open book either, but he’d gotten used to a certain level of brusque professionalism.

So of course he’d been sufficiently startled when John had practically thrown himself into Harold’s arms, so relieved to see him alive. Harold wasn’t complaining- it was a rare moment of vulnerability that Harold found himself cherishing. It was just a shame it had occurred in the wake of the recent tragedy. The number. Harold shook himself from his daze. Thinking about John wasn’t going to afford him any answers. If he wanted to learn from his mistakes, he had to replay the scenario in search of what he missed.

But as he thought back on the day, he found it impossible to stop thinking about John. John’s voice in his earpiece, telling him he was on his way and that everything would be all right. John’s face upon seeing Harold again, transitioning from despair to surprise to unmitigated relief. John’s head buried in his shoulder, John’s hands against his chest, John’s scent that Harold would recognize anywhere…

Clenching his fists, Harold mentally berated himself again. Why was he so distracted? _How unprofessional_ , he scolded himself. It was one thing to be thinking about John when there were more important matters. It was another to think about John in such an intimate capacity. But Harold couldn’t help it. He could imagine it all perfectly in his mind’s eye, and John’s whiskey and gun oil perfume was certainly enticing…

“Stop it!” Harold snapped aloud. Breathing heavily, he muttered to himself, “You’re being ridiculous. It’s all just adrenaline. You’re just relieved that you’re alive, that’s you’re both alive…”

Sighing again, Harold returned his attention to the computer to go over Miller’s e-mails and correspondents one more time. He only hoped that John was having a more restful evening than he was.


	2. John's POV

John was royally screwed.

Harold had told him to go home and get some rest, but John knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He was still too wired, too jittery, too _hot_. All of his senses were screaming at him to run, to fight, to do something, like he was still in the burning building, even though the fire was out and he was far, far away. He was in a completely different kind of danger.

It wasn’t just his attachment to Harold, or his fear of losing his only friend. It was all of that, and so much more. It was the crack in his defenses, it was the weakness he’d revealed, it was the feelings he couldn’t control, and the memory of Harold’s gentle touch and soothing voice.

John had tried to chalk it all up to the chemical cocktail the fire and the aftermath had concocted in his veins. It explained why he was still trembling an hour later, and why his senses were all buzzing. But it didn’t explain why John had wanted to pull Harold closer and never let go. It didn’t explain why John could still see the tilt of Harold’s shoulders and the quirk of Harold’s lips when he closed his eyes, or why the places where Harold’s hands had been were still tingling, like the back of his neck or his cheek.

 _Harold’s hand on his cheek._ Harold’s fingers were calloused from typing at his computer, but they were still softer than John’s, and they were gentler, soothing. John’s hands were hard and violent, trained to aim, fire, and reload as quickly as possible. He feared breaking everything he touched because his hands were not made to hold delicate things. But Harold’s hand on his face had been delicate like a whisper and warm like sunlight.

And John would have laughed at himself and how stupid it all sounded if he hadn’t been so god damned _scared_. Stanton had told John once that he’d been hand picked because he had nothing to go back to- no family, no girlfriends, no boyfriends, no entanglements- which meant he’d had nothing to lose.

But that was all before Harold. Now, Harold was a part of his life. At first, it had been all about the job- saving people, stopping crime- and he was okay with that. It wasn’t all that different from his past. Don’t ask question, follow orders, do the right thing, and John had nothing to lose. But now he’d gone and ruined it all. He had everything to lose, because he’d made Harold his everything.

John was so screwed.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the short fic and shorter chapters. Just trying to connect the pieces leading into a bigger story arc.


End file.
